


i had a dream about you

by jennyhlucas



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, POV Eames (Inception), Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Inception, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28740609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennyhlucas/pseuds/jennyhlucas
Summary: These are the dreams we should be having. I shouldn’t have to clean them up like this.Eames may be going a little insane. It's all Arthur's fault really.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	i had a dream about you

**Author's Note:**

> the title and summary are from a richard siken poem of the same name that seriously reminds me of these two, it's beautiful, read it!!
> 
> this fic exists in a universe where eames has technically never seen arthur smile at him, so if arthur smiles at him in the film at some point and i've forgotten, forgive me, it's been too long
> 
> happy 2021 everyone!

Eames is not going Dom-Cobb-crazy.

In fact, Eames puts a lot of effort into not going crazy. It’s difficult in a job like this, reality blurring into dreams. Enough people have gone batshit, Eames isn’t going to be one of them.  
So, if his personal projection of Arthur happens onto one of his jobs, it’s only because he hasn’t seen Arthur in nearly a year since inception and his subconscious wants him to go back to taking jobs with competent point men again.

See, Eames dreams recreationally. Some people swear by it, some swear against it, but Eames knows his limits and, unlike some, he’s not prone to going mad or losing his grip on reality. When he dreams, sometimes he chooses to fly over the high rises of New York, sometimes he chooses to fight zombies in a post apocalyptic wasteland, and sometimes he chooses to lounge around in a beautiful flat in London with a slightly smilier version of Arthur accompanying him. It’s a tiny bit weird and maybe a little creepy, but he can’t imagine real life Arthur would actually care if he found out. He’s the sort of man to blink for a second and then move on, because goddamn it, there’s work here to do. Anyway, he’s not going to find out. There’s no reason for him to find out, because Eames has this completely under control.

Until Arthur -no, The Projection- decides to show up at work.

Luckily, he’s not on a job with Arthur at the time. Or maybe not luckily, because he’s sure it wouldn’t have gotten to this point if Arthur had just broken his silence and called him out for a job. Instead, he’s with a motley crew of the five most inept people in dreamsharing.   
They’re attempting an extraction on the kind of man who deserves it. Eames has spent long enough tailing him to solidify the suspicion that he’s an asshole. The sort of smarmy, smooth-talking asshole who thinks he’s as charming as they come. He has information that someone else wants (that’s generally how these go) and in their great effort to extract said information, Eames is playing his well-worn part of a glamorous woman in a great ballroom. The mark is a sucker, he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself. An occupational hazard.

Surprisingly, the job is actually going well, before Eames is distracted by a dark haired, slender figure leaning on a wall at the opposite side of the hall, staring directly at him. Arthur can’t be there, Arthur is not on this job, he’s on the other side of the world. Also, real life Arthur certainly doesn’t look at him like that, sly smirk curling up his lips, eyes hooded. No, this is The Projection. It’s glaringly obvious. But the distraction was enough for the mark to slip out of his fingers, and his point man’s desperate attempt to follow him seems to be enough to trigger the mark’s mind into turning hostile.

They have to go down a second time to get it right, and this time The Projection isn’t waiting for him. He leaves fast after the job is done, and burns his teammates’ numbers. 

His next job is in Hanoi, but he has a month to kill, so he settles down in Bangkok. The sun is hot, the food is incredible and he’s been there enough times that he no longer gets food poisoning from the street stalls. The entire month he refuses to open the PASIV. Clearly, he’s overstepped in some way and he’s not eager for it to become a pattern. He sleeps restlessly and dreams in fractured pieces. He can’t seem to bring himself to indulge in his other old vices. Really, there’s only one thing he wants.

The job goes off without a hitch. The Projection pays a visit, but this time Eames is prepared to deal with him. He doesn’t interfere, not hostile like Mal’s projection. Instead, he seems to lurk in corners, watching Eames casually, looking perfectly in place anywhere. Although, Eames muses, that is a remarkably Arthurian characteristic.

His PASIV is waiting for him when he gets back to the hotel that night. He reasons that he’s earned it.

He’s in his kitchen at sunrise. The sun is streaming in through the half open blinds, casting rays of light across the figure at his stove. His face turns, and his delicate profile is sketched out in gold against the window. Eames approaches on light feet.

“Hey,” he whispers gently, “how have you been?”

The Projection finally turns to him, dressed in a ratty old t-shirt and jeans slung low on his hips. It’s funny. Even in his own dream, Eames can’t find the courage to bridge the distance between them.

“You don’t really care about that, Eames”

“Don’t I?”

The Projection’s gaze turns wolfish.

“Say my name.” 

Eames takes a shaky step back.

“No.”

The Projection grins, moving towards Eames. His smile looks strange somehow, unnatural.  
This needs to stop.

————

He’s been stubbornly resisting his PASIV for three months when he gets a call from Cobb.

“Eames.”

“Cobb.”

“There’s a small job here in America, neat, tidy, only one level down. Big paycheck.”

“Thought you had retired.”

“I’ll be back to the kids for Christmas, don’t worry about me”

“Believe me Cobb, I’m not worried about you. In fact, I don’t see any reason why I should consider working with you again.”

“Arthur will be there”

“So?”

Cobb hangs up.  
Eames flies straight out into O’Hare the next morning.

————

Entering the warehouse and seeing real life Arthur there, sitting with his sharp posture in his sharp suit, hair slicked back, face cold and stern, is almost like coming home. Eames hates to seem so sentimental, but no matter how much he’s studied this man, seeing him again makes it clear that The Projection can’t hold a candle to the real thing. 

Arthur looks up and his face imperceptibly softens upon seeing Eames. He wasn’t expecting that, considering the year long silent treatment he’s been receiving.

“Long time, no see, my friend”

“Has it been? I hadn’t noticed.”

Despite the words, Arthur’s voice is gentle. He’s focused on the notebook in his hands. Eames takes the seat beside him. They sit like that for a while, Arthur looking down at the notebook, Eames looking across at Arthur. Sweet, simple and silent. If he considers it, he thinks maybe, just maybe, he could spend the rest of his life in this tiny moment.

The atmosphere is broken by the entrance of Caroline, a blonde woman in her late 30s, their architect for the job.

“Alright guys, get off your asses. We have work to do,” she says.

Eames stalks over to where she’s standing at the top of the room.

“Forgive me, I don’t think we’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, I’m Eames.”

“Oh no, we’ve met before,” she says with a smile. “Many years ago now, I forgive you for forgetting.”

Eames frowns. Now that he considers it, she does look familiar. But before he gets the chance to think on it, Cobb marches through the door. 

“Great! Everyone’s here, let’s go.”

Arthur and Cobb share a little look before Cobb dives into his explanation of the job. It does not do to be jealous of Cobb, but it simmers slightly below the surface of their every interaction. It’s not hostility towards Cobb he feels, as some might think, but more a quiet resentment of his ever-enduring hold over Arthur. 

“Client is Teresa Hernandez. She’s the CEO of Aerolínea Holding, based here in Chicago. She has suspicions about one of her shareholders, Richard Jackson. Our job is to go into his head, confirm her fears and find her some dirt she can use to push him out.” 

Cobb looks over to Arthur, who gets up and makes his way over to the front.

“Hernandez is convinced that Jackson is planning to initiate a vote to oust her. He’s on the board of directors and she wants to avoid a vote of her own, so it’ll be neater if we can find something that she can use against him.” Arthur pauses, “Something that’ll be enough for him to leave quietly.”

He starts to pace the length of the room.

“Mei, you’ll be staying topside.” Mei, their chemist, nods. She looks around 20, but can’t be, seeing as she’s been in the business for at least ten years. Dependable, professional, just the sort of person they need onside for a job like this.

“We should do with a normal Somnacin blend, maybe something to make him a little suggestible, but we don’t need to take any undue risks.” He stresses that last bit, catching Eames eye for a second. They both must not want a repeat of the last time.

“Caroline, we need him to be comfortable. I’ll leave it up to you, but I’m thinking his home is a safe bet, and I should be able to pull you up blueprints of the house.” 

He stops in front of Eames. “What do you think, Eames? His wife?”

“I don’t know how likely he is to spill his secrets if they concern her. It would be risky, but he has a brother. Dead now. Deep enough into the dream, I think it could make him vulnerable, and with a little poking…”

“You’re right, it’s risky. I expect he knew his brother like the back of his hand. He’ll have to be relaxed, sedated enough that his subconscious can’t identify anything wrong.”

Caroline perks up. “I can take care of that. Mei can help on her side too.”

Arthur doesn’t seem to notice her.

“How are you going to replicate the dead brother?”

“You’re not the only one who does his research, Arthur. I’ve looked him up. Lucky for me, the guy was a public speaker, there are clips of him online. Enough that I’ll be able to forge something passable, as long as we have Jackson confused and distracted enough.”

That seems to satisfy Arthur, and Cobb claps his hands together twice.

“Okay, get to work! If we’re lucky, we’ll be ready by next week.”

————

Eames is watching what footage there is of the older Jackson online, when he feels Arthur’s presence over his left shoulder.

“You think we’ll have Cobb back for Christmas?” He asks, looking up.

“Almost certainly.” Arthur murmurs. 

He leans over to shuffle through the papers on the desk, pulling some out and replacing them with ones he brought over from his own desk. Eames watches the elegant line of his back, the steadiness of his shoulders. It’s easy to feel safe working a job with Arthur. He makes it difficult to imagine anything could possibly go wrong. Of course, it easily could and has done many times before. Arthur isn’t magical. Any job, no matter how easy, can go wrong. He can’t let himself become complacent. Arthur straightens back up, and in the space he left, Eames can see Caroline staring straight at him. She stiffens and turns back to her computer. It’s not the first time he’s caught her looking at Arthur. Every so often her gaze latches onto him, dark and watchful. If anyone else notices, they don’t bring it up. Neither does Eames, especially considering it’s likely he only noticed through staring of his own.

————

Mei is nothing like Yusuf, in that she’s a true professional and entirely uncreative. Her Somnacin mix is perfect for the job and Eames takes as many opportunities to go under as possible to perfect his forgery. 

“Welcome back to Planet Earth, Mr Eames,” Mei says, her soft tones waking him from his third dream of the day. 

His mouth is a little cottony, his forearm hurts and the jacket he’d hung on his chair is nowhere to be seen. He turns to Caroline beside him.

“What do you think?”

“Nearly there, Mr Eames. We should be ready by the end of the week.”

She rises to help Mei with the equipment, and Eames can’t help but think she seems a little disinterested for someone who’s been spending so many hours a day designing the dream. He pulls himself out of the chair and saunters over to the main room, taking his designated place at the edge of Arthur’s desk.

“Caroline says we should be ready in a week.”

“Hm, sounds about right.” He’s distracted by his files but takes a second to look up at Eames.  
“Your new jacket, I hung it up against the door.” At Eames’ blank look, he continues, “It fell off your chair while you were dreaming. I thought you wouldn’t want it creased.”

“How did you know it was new?”

“Well, I haven’t seen it before.” He meets Eames’ eyes like he’s expecting some sort of challenge.

“Well thank you, Arthur. I know it would offend you greatly to see me walking around in a wrinkled jacket,” he says with a smirk.

Arthur just scoffs and redirects his attention to the files scattered over his desk. Eames wanders back over to Mei, still thinking about his new, thankfully now uncreased, jacket. In truth, he partly bought it knowing it would suit Arthur’s particular tastes. No wonder the man was so concerned over its wellbeing.

“Mei, when do you think we’ll be ready?”

“By the end of the week, I’m sure.”

“You don’t think that’s a little overambitious?”

“As long as everything goes to plan, it should be fine, Mr Eames.”

“Please, just Eames.”

She smiles and turns back to the PASIV. Tough nut.

By the time Cobb, Caroline and Mei have left for their respective hotels, it’s dark outside. Eames, however, has made a habit of hanging back with Arthur and watching him work late into the night.   
“What do you think of Caroline?” He asks, once their companionable silence starts to grow thin.

“She’s competent, a talented dreamer. Not the best I’ve ever seen, but better than most.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking, Arthur. What do you think of her?”

He puts away his laptop and turns to look at Eames head on.

“You think we should abandon the job?”

“I didn’t say that. In fact, I didn’t really say anything.”

“You don’t need to say anything. You don’t like the way she looks at me.”

“I don’t like the way anyone looks at you, darling,” he shoots back with a grin.

“She doesn’t look at me the way anyone looks at me, Eames. She’s been watching me like she has a plan for me.”

Eames realises now that that’s the best way to describe it.

“Lucky for you,” Arthur continues, “I’ve noticed something a little more concrete.”

He pulls out a paper from the pile on his desk.

“Caroline doesn’t just know you, Eames. She knows the client too. Never thought to mention it”  
The paper shows a history of phone calls between Caroline and Hernandez, from the summer of last year.

“Wasn’t Caroline the one to get us the job? Maybe it was just through their connection.”

“Perhaps. But surely she would’ve said something?”

Eames smiles, “Some people have secrets. Some people just don’t want to tell you everything, Arthur.”

Arthur bristles at that and grabs for his bag, before hesitating.

“Do you remember Caracas?”

The question comes out of nowhere and throws Eames a little.

“How could I forget? The first time my heroics saved your life.”

Arthur doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t laugh either.

“How many more times have you saved it since?”

“Probably about as many times as you’ve saved mine.”

He seems to consider this a little, and then finally packs away his things and stands.

“I need to know you have my back on this job, Eames.”

Eames fixes him with a serious look. “Always.”

Arthur smiles like he’s heard a joke and Eames can’t imagine how to explain that he meant it. He heads for the door, and just before he crosses the threshold, Eames stops him with a hand at his elbow.

“Why has it been so long, Arthur?”

‘I’ve not been working.”

“You’ve- what? You’ve not been working?”

“Not since Fischer, no. Cobb called me out for this. I think he was getting worried. Probably the only reason he took the job.”

“Was he right to be worried?”

Arthur looks up at that.

“No one needs to be worried about me, Eames.”

Eames smiles gently. “Oh Arthur, some of us can’t help it”

————

Over the next week, Eames makes sure to keep an extra eye on Caroline. She’s nothing but perfect. The week goes well, and their predictions were right. By Monday they’re ready to go. Caroline has settled on the idea of using Jackson’s childhood home, which she managed to visit herself on Wednesday under the clever guise of an electrician. 

Eames is fiddling with the PASIV while Mei gets the Somnacin ready. Her hands are steady and sure as she sets up the equipment and it helps to set Eames’ nerves at rest. Richard Jackson is lying unconscious in the back room. It was a swift and simple kidnapping, the way it comes easy to people who’ve worked together enough times.

“Hey, are we all ready over here?”

Eames looks up to see Arthur leaned up against the doorframe. 

“Yeah, I think we’re about ready.” He looks at Mei for confirmation and she gives him a nod.

Him and Arthur make eye contact and Eames can feel him saying with his eyes, “It’s okay Eames, if you still don’t like this, we can go.”

It’s easy for Eames to pretend he doesn’t hear the silent message and he simply sidles past Arthur in the doorway, a little too close, like always. As he leaves, Arthur’s finger catches on his cuff and Eames turns in the tight space between them. Arthur doesn’t say anything, just nods and the tiny gesture does more in the way of reassurance than anything he could’ve said.

He and Cobb bring the body back to the room, and Mei hooks him up to the PASIV. Eames makes sure Caroline is where she should be. They all slowly recline, arms out and get ready to go under. Eames catches Arthur’s eye, but before he knows it, the world melts away.

————

The bedroom ceiling is low and hand painted with little stars. Caroline’s done a beautiful job.   
Her work is like that of an artist, the atmosphere in the room pleasantly warm and comforting, with the perfect level of surreality. The others have been combing the house for anything they can find, while Eames tries to make Jackson comfortable. It’s working so far, a slightly younger Jackson is reclined against the foot of the bed, relaxed and smiling. They’re chatting easily together on the floor of their room. It’s strange, Eames expected more resistance than this, wearing his dead brother’s skin.

“So, how have your family been, Richard?”

Jackson laughs. “Why are you calling me Richard all of a sudden? Have I done something wrong?”

Fuck.

“Ah just trying something new, I guess.”

“I prefer when you call me Rick, Tommy. You sound like Mom.”

A stupid mistake, and now the warm room has taken on a slight chill.

“Sometimes you deserve to be told off, Rick. Someone has to do it.”

“Well, everyone deserves to be told off sometimes.”

“Yeah, just right. We all do bad things, don’t we?”

He can hear pacing outside the door. The others wouldn’t interrupt unless something’s gone wrong. Eames lifts himself to his feet.

“Stay here, Rick. I’ll be back in a sec.”

He slides out of the door and is met with Cobb looking a tiny bit frantic.

“This place is empty, there’s nothing here. Like he knows what’s going on, like he’s protecting himself.” He pauses for a moment. “And I can’t find Arthur anywhere.”

“What? He came down with us didn’t he?” Eames says.

As if summoned, Arthur turns the corner and strides down to them from the far end of the corridor, calm and casual. Cobb steps forward with concern.

“Where have you been? Have you seen this guy’s mind?”   
“Don’t worry Cobb, it’s okay. Eames, you’ll have to complete the extraction,” he replies with a bright smile directed at Eames.

Maybe he’s blinded by the stress of the mission. Maybe he’s grown too used to his own dreams. Either way, Eames shoots back a smile and makes to head back into the room. He doesn’t get far, yanked back with his sleeve by Cobb.

“That’s not Arthur. What is that?”

This is where Eames realises that he is well and truly fucked.

“Hey! I’m right here, you know.”

“What is that, Eames?” 

Cobb’s eyes are looking wide and crazed and right now Eames is seriously thinking of dreaming up a gun and getting the hell out of here. 

“Listen, I have this under control.” Cobb just stares back at him. “Arthur, please can you leave?”

The Projection just shrugs easily at Eames’ words and walks down the stairs, disappearing into the shadows.

“That’s happened before?”

“Is this really the time, Cobb? What about your precious extraction?”

“I want you to explain that. Now.”

Cobb had a lot of nerve, looking at him like he was the crazy one. 

“You’ve a lot of nerve, looking at me like I’m the crazy one.”

“I’ve got myself under control. Have you?”

“As you just saw, The Projection was kind enough to leave us alone. Maybe he realised we should be focusing on the job. Should I bring him back so he can explain the importance of what we’re doing here?”

“I know you think this is normal and okay, but it’s not. It’s not normal and—“

Cobb is cut off by a sudden jerk in the ground below. The walls around them are starting to shudder and shake and one end of the hallway is steadily rising. Eames gently cracks the bedroom door open to find Jackson sitting there peacefully, his legs crossed and eyes closed. 

“No reaction.” Cobb points out, in a way that makes it sound earth-shatteringly significant.

“I think, we may have to make a swift exit from here. How long until the kick?”

Cobb checks his wrist. “At least another hour.”

“No other way to do it, my friend,” he says and with a flourish, pulls out his handgun and shoots a neat hole right in between Cobb’s blue eyes. He presses the gun against his temple and with no hesitation, pulls the trigger.

They wake to a room with Arthur and Mei missing, Caroline and Jackson still peacefully asleep in their lawn chairs. Slowly, they rise, guns in hand. There’s no sign of struggle, but across the main floor, another door is slightly ajar. Eames looks to Cobb and he nods. They both edge up to either side of the door and with a quick signal, they burst in, guns raised. The door smashes open, revealing a slightly anticlimactic scene. On two wooden chairs, Arthur and Mei are both hooked up to a PASIV, fast asleep.

“What the fuck is Mei doing under?” Eames nudges at the PASIV, resting on a tiny plastic table, “That’s not ours. What the hell? Is Arthur running some counter-extraction?”

Cobb is silent, considering.   
“We have to wake them up.”

“Not so quick, boys,” comes from behind them.

They don’t need to turn to know that it’s Caroline and they don’t need to hear it being cocked to know she has a gun to the back of their heads. In one swift motion, Cobb pulls out his gun and trains it on Mei. 

“I assume you two are working together.”

“You’d assume right.”

“Care to explain what all this is?”  
Cobb’s eyes have the slightest touch of betrayal in them as he glares across at Caroline.

“Don’t worry, we’re not here to hurt anyone. We just want something from you.”

Eames raises an eyebrow, “You’re really going to make us ask?”

He raises his gun now too, training it at Caroline’s head. Hers lowers down to Arthur.  
“It seems we’re at an impasse” she says.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m sure we can get past it.” Eames’ foot is close enough to Arthur’s chair and he shoves underneath the leg, sending Arthur sprawling across the floor. This sends the room into action and Caroline dives to Mei’s chair as Cobb tries to tackle her down. As soon as Arthur gets his bearings, his gun is on Mei and hers is on him. Another impasse.

“Come on Eames,” Caroline smirks, “haven’t you worked out where we’ve met before?”

Slowly, and then all at once, it dawns on him. Caroline, much younger then, and with a different name. Still blonde, still a brilliant architect, fresh to the dreamshare business and wild with ambition. He can see it in her eyes now, that same wildness.

“Inception. You want to know how we did it, when it was you and I that failed all those years ago.”

“So it’s true, you achieved inception.” Her face breaks out into a manic beam.

“You’re not going to find anything rummaging around in Arthur’s head,” his gaze darts to Arthur, back to the wall, his hands firm and steady around his gun. “There’s no great secret.”

“I’m sure your Arthur is more organised than you, Eames. What I wanted was a step-by-step of what you did.” She turns to Mei, “Did you get it?”

“You didn’t give us enough time. He’s militarised.”

Cobb’s eyes are darting between the two of them. “So the job? Was that all completely fake?”

“Honestly, Cobb? Is that what you’re concerned with right now?”

“Eames, they can have an essay on what we did for all I care. I came out here for a job.”  
Caroline looks at him, a little stunned.

“What? Do you think I care if you work it out?” Cobb snorts, “It’s not easy, if you can pull inception off, kudos to you.”

The tension in the room eases slightly. Eames lowers his gun and looks down at Arthur. He has a split second warning before Arthur dives for Mei, his hands around her throat. The room is thrown into commotion: Eames dives after Arthur, Arthur and Mei are grappling each other on the floor, guns forgotten, Caroline is shooting into the mess and Cobb is trying to shoot back at Caroline.

“ARTHUR, ARTHUR, RELAX!” Eames is trying to grab at Arthur’s shoulders, but he’s got Mei pinned down and jerks away from his touch easily. Mei is breathless beneath him, but she doesn’t look scared in the slightest.

“What the FUCK were you doing in my head?”

“I wasn’t doing anything, I was looking.”

“You had your dirty fingers in my mind,” he says with venom. His hands tighten around her neck. Eames doesn’t think he’s ever seen Arthur lose control before. 

A shout from Caroline. 

Then, bright hot pain. 

Maybe he screams, he can’t be certain. 

————

He comes to with Cobb and Arthur hauling his body out of the warehouse and into the backseat of a car.

“What’s going on? Where are they?”

Cobb climbs into the driver’s seat.  
‘Don’t worry, they’ll be after us in a minute. I wasn’t going to kill a perfectly good pair of dreamsharers.”

Arthur slides in on the other side.  
“Which is why we need to go, and fast.” 

“Arthur, are you okay?”

“Am I okay? You’re the one fainting like a maiden.”

“I got shot!”

“Please, in your leg, and you’re barely bleeding.”

“Well, you’re the one who went crazy at the chemist.”

Arthur swivels in the passenger seat.  
“I don’t like having someone fumble around in my head.”

“You do realise that makes you a complete hypocrite, right?”

“Girls, can we calm down?” Cobb interrupts. He hits the gas, and Eames can finally relax into the backseat.

“The whole job was a farce,” Arthur explains, “Caroline didn’t just know Hernandez, she knew Jackson too.”  
“That’s why Jackson’s mind was so well guarded. He knew what was happening and couldn’t help bracing himself for our intrusion.” Cobb says, “He and Hernandez must have gotten paid for their troubles. That, or they have their own stake in inception.“

“And here I was thinking the kidnap was easy thanks to our beautiful teamwork.” Eames says, “I bet she didn’t even pretend to be an electrician.”

Cobb snorts. “Maybe next time they’ll just ask us.”

“Or maybe they can work out how to run a successful inception for themselves.” Eames tries to nudge Arthur from the backseat. “Honestly, sometimes I think we’re the only halfway competent guys in dreamshare.”

“Leave yourself out of it, there’s a reason they wanted into my head.”

“Yeah and that happened to be the worst choice they made today.”

The ride is strange and swerving, but in less than an hour, they’ve pulled into the parking lot of a cheap motel. Thankfully, the sort of place that asks no questions and expects no answers.  
“I’ll be driving back home from here. If I were you, I’d try to leave the country by Wednesday, Cobb sighs, “not that there’s anything to worry about, I’m sure those two have had their fill.”

“Cobb, as a matter of urgency, you really need to try writing a book.” Arthur sounds like he’s smiling, but Eames can’t see his face from this angle. They lean in for a quick one-armed hug.

“Could you deal with the bags? I want to talk to Eames for a minute.”

Arthur doesn’t blink at that, just obediently gets up and out of the car, carrying the bags to the lobby of the motel. Eames tries his best not to get anxious at the way Cobb is eyeing him in the mirror.

“We need to talk about what happened.”

“Nothing happened. It was just a projection.”

“If you’re losing control of your projections, if you can’t tell what’s real and what’s—“

“Stop. It was a tiny slip up, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Eames. This is how it starts.’ He swings around in his seat to look Eames in his eye. “I know you care about Arthur. He cares about you too. You need to sort through your issues, before you’re no longer fit to dream.”

There’s not much Eames can say to that. He doesn’t want to argue through the technicalities of what Arthur caring for him possibly means. He knows that his little show in the dream looks bad, hell he knows the past few months have been bad. It’s not normal to dream like that.

“I know you can get this under control, Eames. I just don’t want to see any more of your projections the next time we go under. You’re a good forger, the best.”

Eames laughs a little at that, “I know.” Then, something occurs to him.  
“How did you know it was my projection? It could’ve been Caroline’s, even yours.”

“It couldn’t have been Caroline’s. It was, by all rights, perfect. Not many people could make a perfect projection of Arthur.”

“If it was perfect, how could you tell it was a projection?”

“Ah, almost perfect. Arthur has dimples when he smiles.”

“Arthur has what?”

“Dimples. Arthur has dimples.”

Cobb smiles a little and twists back in his seat, looking a little too self satisfied for Eames’ liking

Dimples.   
There is some fundamental part of Arthur that Eames doesn’t know. Probably many fundamental parts. Before Eames gets the chance to think about it, Arthur is at the door again, ready to manhandle him into the motel. He turns to Cobb.

“I’ll be seeing you soon?” Eames asks.

“No more jobs, I think I’ve got what I wanted.” Cobb casts a knowing look over at Arthur.

“Yes, but I’ll be seeing you soon?”

“Of course,” Cobb says, with a smile.

Eames lets Arthur help him out of the car, and gives him and Cobb a second to have another of their one-armed hugs before the door is shut and Cobb steps back on the gas. They stand there for a moment, watching Cobb drive away.

“You were right, home for Christmas.”

“Well, let’s pray there’s no traffic.”

————

The journey up to their room is torture for both of them. Swinging the rickety door open reveals a room that could be very charitably described as “cozy”. The bathroom is even worse. Somehow though, the place still manages to have a minibar.

Arthur hauls Eames onto the toilet seat and pulls his leg up to rest it on the edge of the bathtub. Eames is trying to hide the pain in his face, but judging by the way Arthur is looking at him, he’s most likely failing.

“How bad is it?”

“You’re not going to die,” Arthur grimaces, “but you need to let me get it out.”

He doesn’t wait for confirmation, just grabs at his minibar vodka and sloshes it over the wound. If Eames screams, they make a tacit agreement to never mention it again, and then Arthur is at his leg with a pair of tweezers.

Between gritted teeth, Eames asks quietly, “Have you noticed, Arthur? You’ve never actually smiled at me, in all these years.”

Arthur looks up from his fingers deep in Eames flesh. “What? I smile at you plenty.”

“No you don’t, I’ve never even seen it.” Eames is aware he sounds petulant, but he decides he’s allowed to. He’s just been shot, for Christ’s sake.

“I smile. You’re just never looking.”

“I’m always looking.”

With a great burst of pain, the bullet is out. Arthur wastes no time in wrapping his leg up tight and pulling it down from the bathtub.

“Come on, I’ll get you to bed.”

Eames very nobly doesn’t say anything to that.

————

The hotel room is as small when he wakes up as it was when he went to sleep. The bed takes up most of the room and a small armchair takes up whats left. Arthur is curled up asleep in the chair, facing the door, gun slipping from his fingers. It’s very different from a PASIV induced sleep, Arthur usually manages to keep his slicked back, buttoned up appearance even then. Here, with the light streaming in, Eames could nearly mistake this for one of his dreams. Arthur’s face is smoothed out and he looks nineteen again, young and fresh in the grand business of dreamsharing. Eames gives into the temptation to check his totem, sliding his hand into the jacket resting neatly on his bedside table. The movement jerks Arthur awake and just like that, his gun is steady in his hand and once again he looks like the kind of man you don’t think to cross. Perhaps Eames actually prefers him like this. Perhaps he just likes anything Arthur is willing to give.

“Not a dream,” Eames says, holding up the poker chip between his fingers.

“I knew that,” Arthur replies, visibly relaxing.

Eames reckons it won’t be much longer until they have to leave, but it’ll be smart to do it under the cover of darkness. Arthur unfolds himself from the chair, trying to pull himself back together. His hair is flopping into his eyes, the gel having worn away in the night. Eames finds it oddly charming, but he keeps his mouth shut.

“How’s the leg?”

“Fine, I wouldn’t mind some more painkillers.”

“Your wish is my command,” Arthur replies wryly.

Eames accepts the painkillers tossed in his direction and takes to observing a slightly ruffled Arthur pottering around the room. 

“You won’t mind me leaving for a bit then? I’ve got some stuff to put in order, we’ll be flying out early tomorrow morning.”

“Together?”

“Unless you think you can travel on that leg alone.”

He fixes Eames with a look and Eames refuses to look away.

“I thought so.”

Arthur bustles through the door and Eames lies there, alone with his thoughts.

————

It’s dark by the time Arthur gets back. He’s significantly more put together, but he’s slightly shaky as he lowers himself into the chair.

“Do you think we’ll have to get used to all this? People wanting to know about inception.” 

“I wasn’t joking, Cobb really should write that book,” Arthur replies, dry as ever.

“Arthur, what did she do inside your head?”  
He tips his head back, looking up. Eames thinks he’s seeing more than just the popcorn ceiling. That he’s seeing the stars above. That he’s looking beyond them, as far as it goes. He takes one big quivery breath.

“I am a hypocrite, Eames. There are things in my mind that I don’t want people to see. Things I’m scared people are going to dig up,” he says, “I’m just a man, nothing more.”

“I don’t think of you as more than a man.”

The look Arthur gives him then- if he ever wanted proof that Arthur was a man, this was it. His eyes are wide, red rimmed and delicate, and his mouth is twisted in a shape that Eames has never seen it before. He’ll do anything not to see it again.

“I feel like my head’s a little fucked up at the moment,” he whispers.

“Oh Arthur, if only you knew what happened in mine today.” Eames doesn’t want to tell him, but Arthur, swaddled in his black coat on a tiny hotel armchair, a few breaths away from crying is motivation enough. “I’ve got Cobb’s disease you see. You’re haunting my dreams, darling. Can you believe, Cobb and I thought you were there in the dream with us at first! So what? The chemist ran around a little in your brain, I’m two dreams off from flying away with the fairies.”

It’s painfully obvious that Eames is trying desperately to make Arthur feel better. Maybe it’s this that does it. Maybe Arthur is charmed by Eames’ babble. Maybe it’s just the adrenaline crash. Either way, Eames gets what he wants.

The smile Arthur gives him is natural, thoughtless, and entirely, entirely devastating. Cobb was right, he does indeed have dimples and Eames can’t quite believe he ever imagined him without them. He knows he’s probably staring. The room is charged and he feels the responsibly to break the strange tension he’s created.

“Does the threat of me going insane make you happy?” He asks, trying to appear put out, but probably looking frighteningly smug.

“Oh Eames, you’re not going insane, you just missed me.” His smile has taken on a cheeky turn, dimples out in full force. Eames is suddenly breathless.

“Can you blame me? You left us for a year. Should I be alerting the community to your imminent return?”

“Well, I prefer to work in a team, and with Cobb gone…” he trails off.

“I see.” Eames tries not to look defeated and tragically fails. He’s making to try and get up, when he hears the unmistakeable sound of Arthur’s laughter.

“Eames. Do I really have to spell it out?”

Like that, a wall somewhere crumbles. He looks across the divide between armchair and bed, into Arthur’s inviting face and can feel everything falling into its perfect place. For once in his life, Eames can do whatever he wants. And what he wants is to bridge the gap between them.

Soon, Eames will topple flat on his face trying to walk over to Arthur’s chair. Arthur will have to pick him up from the floor and offer to redress his bandage. Eames will make some godawful joke about falling for him.

But until then, Eames is hopelessly, helplessly powerful.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a terrible habit of using punctuation just according to how i'm feeling on the day so i apologise for any dodgy grammar  
> any comments are welcome :)))
> 
> thanks for reading!!!


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